


What If What If What If

by purple_charlie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Cunnilingus, F/M, Sam Winchester’s magic dick, Sam is a cunning linguist huehuehue, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mentions of BDSM, mentions of spanking, no one dies and Sam just gets to be HAPPY, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:42:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25375618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_charlie/pseuds/purple_charlie
Summary: What if this was goodbye sex? What if he’s just going to dump me and he and Dean will ask me to move out of the bunker? What if what if what if, I’m locked in a spiral I can’t get out of.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	What If What If What If

**Author's Note:**

> WHOA BOY THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME.  
> It was supposed to just be some sweet nothings when I was feeling sad and lonely, then Sam happened and four thousand words flowed like a river from me in under 24 hours.  
> I JUST WANT HIM TO BE HAPPY AND HAVE GOOD SEX, OK???  
> Ding dang it, sorry to those who read it while my text replacement was in the final draft *headdesk* I’ve replaced it with Y/N, so it will ACTUALLY read correctly. If you’ve got the Interactive Fic chrome extension, make sure you check your drafts before publishing!

“Why do you love me?” I whisper one night in the dark, once Sam has slipped into bed beside me. It’s just the two of us and my metaphorical demons are loud in my head. There are plenty of beautiful, badass hunter women he could be with. Sam is gorgeous and smart and kind and deadly, I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand why he’s with me, a glorified librarian who wears glasses and winces when she shoots a gun. “Why me?”

Sam turns over slowly, sliding one big arm under my head, locking the other one around my waist. The bunker is dark at night, and his face is lit only by the tiny nightlight we keep on so we don’t trip. The concerned crinkle is between his eyebrows, and it hurts me to see it, but at the same time I’ve been stewing in this question for weeks. 

“Why do I love you?” He murmurs, kissing my hairline. “Wow, what a question.” He’s speaking slowly, like he’s really thinking about it. I can’t help but to hide my face in his chest, nuzzling my nose into the soft cotton of his sleep shirt. 

I’m honestly not expecting much. He’s been distant and weird lately, scuttling off when I walk into a room and whispering things with Dean and Cas when he thinks I’m not listening. Every fiber in my being is just praying that this doesn’t turn into an “I’m sorry but” breakup speech.

“Well, you’re almost more of a nerd than I am.” There’s a smile in his voice, and my stomach flips, despite the anxiety racing around my brain. “And there was that one time you ganked a vamp right as it was about to eat me for lunch.” 

A sad giggle escapes me. We’d been hunting a vamp nest a state over last year and Sam had been distracted by a book the vamps had left out. I’d come around a corner just before the thing had munched into Sam’s shoulder. I’d shouted “SAM!” before swinging my machete with all my weight. The vamp’s head had rolled to my feet with a comical expression of shock on its face as Sam had beamed at me. That night had involved some very athletic and enthusiastic “thank god we’re not dead” sex, and I wriggle in Sam’s arms at the memory.

“You’re good in the kitchen. I love that pesto chicken thing you make, and Dean might end up being 400 pounds if you keep baking whenever you’re stressed.” 

He’s right. I stress bake, Dean stress eats, and we’re the perfect storm. I’ll end up making three kinds of baked goods during the research phase of a hunt, and when Dean comes back he tears into them like he’s just been without food for a month. His favorite is apple pie, of course, and Cas prefers coffee cake. Sam swears he doesn't have a favorite, but he’s the one who ends up eating most of the banana bread. I mostly bake to keep my hands busy, but it’s very nice to have a bunker full of guys who love my baking.

Sam twirls my hair around his finger before continuing, pretending not to notice that I’ve been silent the past few minutes. 

“You sing in the shower and actually sound good. I’ve spent so much time listening to Dean and his classic rock, it’s nice to hear show tunes or Disney now and again.” He slides his knee in between my feet, tangling us even closer together. “Whenever you fall asleep in the car, you make cute little snoring noises. Dean makes fun of me whenever you fall asleep, because I apparently start looking at you like a doofus. I don’t care. You’re sweet in your sleep.” 

His hand slides down my neck and across my shoulder, dipping down to drift along my side before he settles it on my hip, a warm weight, his fingertips pressing into my skin. 

“There’s this way you say my name.” Sam’s voice has dropped an octave, and his breath ghosts over my ear. A shiver runs up my spine, and Sam’s big hand drops down to the small of my back, pulling our hips together. “When we’re-it’s not when we’re fucking, that’s a different type of having sex, it’s when-when we’re going slow, when I’m teasing you. You say my name like you’re begging me to save you from your orgasm, like it’s too much and only I can save you.”

I look up at him, face flushed in the dark, chest heaving, and find Sam staring down at me with a frown. His hand leaves my back to gently cup my face, like I’m breakable, like I’m made of glass. He leans in slowly, brushing a soft kiss over my lips, his thumb dragging gently over my cheekbone.

“I love when you’re focused on a book in the library. When you chew on pens, all I can look at is your mouth.” He’s breathing the words against my lips, barely breaking contact. “I’m supposed to be working, to be helping us find a solution to a problem, but all I can look at is your  _ mouth _ .” He kisses me again, his big hand spread out over my cheek, fingertips slipping under my ear. His lips press hard at mine, but he doesn’t move to deepen the kiss, doesn’t swipe his tongue along my bottom lip like he usually does. He keeps talking instead, whispering the words into my mouth.

“I love watching you on a hunt. I know you kind of hate it, but you do it anyway.” He rests his forehead on mine, rolling us over, slotting our hips together. A whine builds in my throat, but I try to tamp it down, biting my lip and turning my face into the pillow. Sam just tucks his face under my ear, his lips moving over the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I’m fighting tears. Even with everything he’s saying, there’s tension, there’s something he’s holding back. “You know you can help people, even though you’re scared, and it’s dangerous, and I know you hate seeing us hurt, but you fight through it and you’re so strong. I love how strong you are.”

Sam starts rocking his hips, and I let out a gasp as his erection grinds against my pussy.

“Sam-”

“No, no, let me finish, I'm not done.” He groans. He slides his enormous hands over mine, lacing our fingers together. “You asked, I want to tell you why I love you. I love you so much, Y/N, you’ve got no idea.”

The dam breaks, and tears slide over my cheeks. My breath comes in hitching sobs as Sam squeezes my hands tighter. He presses his mouth under my jaw, catching the tears as they roll past my ear. His breathing is just as shaky as mine, but his body is a steadying weight.

“I’m sorry you doubted that. I’m sorry you had to ask. I know I’ve been weird lately, I’m sorry.” His mouth drags along my jaw, and he seals his mouth to mine, slipping his tongue between my lips as he rolls his hips. He’s hard and hot all over, and I can’t tell whether the tears on my cheeks are coming from my eyes or his. One of his big hands comes to my face again, gripping it tightly, sliding under my jaw and tilting my head up. The kiss deepens, turns filthy and slick as Sam fucks his tongue into my mouth, a shaky moan rumbling in his chest. He pulls away only to yank aside the neck of my shirt and trail delicate little bites along my shoulder. 

“I love how competitive you get.” He’s panting out the words, desperately grinding his cock against me. My sleep shorts have ridden up on my legs, and Sam’s hip bones are digging into the soft skin of my inner thighs. “Game night is no fun when you’re not there. Dean just wants to play poker and Cas still hasn’t figured it out.” 

I grab onto Sam’s sides, tipping my chin up to give him more access to my neck. He groans and latches his mouth under my jaw, bites and sucks until I’m writhing against him. A shudder goes through Sam’s body, and he pants against my neck for a moment, like he’s trying to compose himself. His cock twitches against my pussy. 

“I love marking you up.” He growls. He presses down into me until his weight is almost too much to bear, grabs my legs and hitches them around his waist. “Dean makes fun of me when we leave hickeys or scratches on each other, but I love it. I love when you scratch up my back, I love when I get to leave marks on you.” He catches my wrists in his big hands, pulls my arms up over my head. I’m staring at him, tears drying on my face, as he looks down at me, his expression hard to read in the gloom. 

“I love  _ this _ .” He presses down on my wrists, squeezes hard enough that the bones grind together. I gasp, arching against him, barely able to move against his mass. We’d only just started to tiptoe into restraints and obedience recently, and Sam had seemed hesitant at first. When I first shyly asked him about spanking, he’d turned bright red and said he didn’t want to intentionally hurt me. 

But after a week, he’d come up to me in the kitchen one night after dinner and crowded into my space, pressing me against the fridge. 

“I’ve thought about what you asked for.” He’d breathed into my ear, fingertips ghosting around the neck of my shirt. “I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. And-and if you’re a good girl for me, I think something can be arranged.” 

I’d practically come on the spot. Since then we’d been experimenting with spanking and  _ Sir _ and some rope Sam had taken from the dungeon. Sam had been taking baby steps, terrified of hurting me in a way that didn’t feel good, I’d always been the one to initiate it. Until now I’d hadn’t thought he’d been very into it. 

“I-I love watching you struggle.” He almost spits this out, closing his eyes tight against the admission. “I love knowing that you trust me enough to make you helpless, that you trust me enough to take care of you like that. I love watching you walk after I’ve spanked your ass red and fucked your pussy sore.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, sliding his hands into mine, hiding his face in my neck. I haven’t even noticed that I’d been grinding up against his straining cock until now, until he meets my hips with his. I can feel the damp spot in his boxers against my thigh. 

“I love taking care of you after.” He sounds wrecked, voice cracking. “I love checking in with you, making sure you’re ok, watching dumb tv when you’re fucked out. I love putting you in my shirts and holding you after.” 

Sam’s hands slide down my arms and he wraps himself around me like a koala, breathing shakily. He sits up suddenly, and the cold air rushing into the space he vacated makes goosebumps spread out on my skin, makes my nipples harden under my shirt. I’ve ripped it off before I realize Sam is pulling his shirt off too, and then he covers me again, his whole body undulating in one big wave as he kisses me fiercely. One of his hands cups my breast, and he rolls my nipple in his fingers. My breathing hitches, and I grab at his hair, tugging his face from mine so I can gulp in air. 

“I love your breasts.” Sam breathes, shifting his weight to his other arm so he can mirror his treatment on the other breast. “They’re warm, and soft, and perfect, and fit in my hands just right.” He emphasizes this by squeezing hard, ducking down to suck my nipple into his mouth. I let out Sam’s name on a moan, tipping my head back, fingers tightening in his hair. He moans around my nipple, sucking hard before pulling off with an obscene pop. 

“Love when you pull my hair.” He groans, eyes shut. I give it another tug, and he hisses, but his cock twitches. He must be so hard it  _ hurts _ . “Love eating your pussy and having your hands in my hair. Love when you try to pull me off before I’m done with you. Love when you shake so hard your hands just flutter over my head.” 

Sam starts to kiss down my stomach, fingers plucking clumsily at my underwear. I reach down and help him pull them off me, and he flings them into the void of darkness beyond our bed. He shoulders between my legs and hooks his arms around my hips, pulling my lips open with his long fingers. It’s too dark for him to see clearly but he still moans deep in his chest before taking a long, dragging lick. I’m already dripping wet, and he moans again, repeating his long lick, then swirling his tongue over my clit. My hands go back into his hair and my back bows off the bed. He’s eating me out with fervor, either deaf to the pornographic noises he’s making or doing it on purpose. It feels too good for me to care. A long finger slides into me without warning, and I cry out, hips jerking up, but Sam is strong enough that he keeps me on the bed with one hand. 

“Sam!” I sob out, trying to push myself into his finger. It’s not enough, not thick enough to push me over the edge, and I can feel it building in my chest, in the way my legs shake around Sam’s ears. He looks up, finger still slowly pumping into me, and nips at my thigh.

“Like that, say my name like that again.” 

I do, drawing it out, and another finger is pushed inside me. I’m so close, but it’s still not enough, I need Sam inside me. 

“Please, please, Sam, please-“ I babble, dropping into a yelp when he starts to go faster, crooking his fingers inside me against the spot I can never reach. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, say my name like that again, I’ll never get enough of hearing that.” He ducks down again, sucking hard on my clit as I topple over the edge, every muscle in my body clenching until I swear I can feel the ridges of his knuckles inside me. I arch off the bed as Sam draws it out, fucking me through it until his fingers become too much and I have to weakly push at his head. He only pulls out two fingers, leaving one to gently stroke at my entrance while he pushes back up my body. 

“I love making you come.” He whispers against my cheek. I’m still shaking, and I clumsily pull him closer to me. He kisses me softly, and I can taste myself when he licks at the curve of my bottom lip. “I love knowing it’s me making you feel that good. I love knowing your gorgeous body well enough to make you come that hard.” 

He pulls his hand away from my pussy and wipes it on the sheets, shushing my whimpered, needy noise with a kiss. His boxers get yanked off and fly into the dark, and then he’s on top of me again, pressing as much of himself against me as he can, his cock hard and hot in the crevice of my thigh. I hook one arm around his neck before reaching down to line him up, both of us laughing when our hands bump into each other, both of us too impatient. He guides my hand over his cock, tilts his hips, and then he’s pushing into me. The too-full stretch of him is so  _ good _ , and I hike my legs up higher on his hips. One of his hands goes down, grabs at my ass, tilts me just so. 

“I love how tight you are.” He gasps out, his voice strained already. He wraps his arms around me, resting his forehead on mine as he starts to move. I’m shaking, each long drag of Sam’s cock sending earthquakes through me. I clutch at the hair on the back of his head to ground myself, and he groans like he’s been punched, hips stuttering. “You-you always feel so damn good.”

“Sa-Sam, oh god-“

“Yeah, that’s it, say my name like that, Y/N, just like that.” He circles his hips and pushes a hand between us to rub his thumb over my clit. That little touch along with the way he’s stretching me sends electricity up my spine, my pussy throbbing and fluttering around Sam’s cock. He bites out a curse, bracing himself on both hands to hammer into me. My hands are still tangled in his hair, and he tips his head back, panting hard. A drop of sweat lands between my breasts, and Sam dips down to blindly lick at it, growling against my skin.

“Love watching your tits bounce while I fuck you.” His voice is deep and ragged, and his teeth flash in the low light. “Love watching your face while my cock is inside you. Like you just can’t believe how big I am.” I just nod, past being able to form words, my whole body a live wire. I’m coiled tight, my toes pointed behind Sam’s back, my mouth dropped open in a shocked O at the force of his hips.

“Come for me. Want you to come for me.” He snarls, dropping down to blanket me with his weight, tangling a hand in my hair and tugging hard. “Be a good girl and  _ come for me, Y/N  _ .” He bites into my neck, hard, and I explode, spasming around him, a shrieking whine spilling from my lips. Sam growls against my jaw, his hand twitching in my hair as he comes, hips bucking wildly. My orgasm lasts and lasts, and I’m still shuddering from aftershocks when Sam slumps against me, gulping in huge breaths. 

We lie there, catching our breath, Sam slowly softening inside me. My hands are cramped from how tightly I’d been holding onto his hair, and I let them slide down to his shoulders. Sam hums against my neck, sighing softly as he pulls out. I card my fingers through his hair, damp with sweat at the temples. My hands are shaking. How can I still be scared after all that? How can I still doubt this beautiful giant? 

We lie there for a few more minutes, sweat cooling between us as my anxiety spins higher and higher. Sam hasn’t said anything since he ordered me to come, and my brain is supplying all sorts of things for him to be thinking. What if this was goodbye sex? What if he’s just going to dump me and he and Dean will ask me to move out of the bunker? What if what if what if, I’m locked in a spiral I can’t get out of until my bladder makes itself known.

“You gotta get up a sec, Sam.” I whisper, patting his shoulder. He just huffs like a horse and snuggles deeper into the pillow behind me. “C’mon, seriously, I gotta pee.” 

“Yeah, ok.” He rolls onto his back, flinging his arms out across the bed. “Turn on the bedside lamp?”

I just nod and gingerly move to slide off the bed, clicking on the lamp without warning Sam about the light. A small, petty part of me feels smugly satisfied when he winces. I gather up my underwear and grab Sam’s sleep shirt against my better judgement. His smell surrounds me when I pull it over my head, and my heart clenches. 

I scurry to the bathroom in the gloom of the bunker. There’s flickering light coming from the direction of the TV room, and I can hear at least one set of snores. That probably means that Cas and Dean stayed up late watching Netflix again. I take care of business quickly but jump when I catch myself in the mirror. There are purple bite marks all down my neck, and my hair is standing in all directions. I quickly run my fingers through it before heading back to bed, knowing it will be a tangled disaster in the morning if I sleep with sex hair. 

When I slip through our door, Sam is standing in the middle of the room in a clean pair of boxers, rubbing his face with one hand, the other fisted at his hip. Other than some wild sex hair of his own, he doesn’t look ruffled at all. There’s two glasses of water on the nightstand. He gives me a crooked smile when I come in, and bends down to kiss me. 

“Hey, Y/N, I just-that was great, but I’ve got to talk to you about something, and I didn’t really  _ want _ to do this after sex, but sometimes the timing is just right, y’know, and-”

“Y’know what, Sam, shove it.” I blurt around the knot in my throat, stepping back so quickly I bump into the door. A chill has settled into my bones. Sam looks like I’ve slapped him. “You’ve been acting weird all week, practically running away from me whenever I walk into a room, whispering with Dean and Cas, and I’ve had it.” My eyes are swimming with tears, making my already bad vision even worse. “If you’re going to dump me, I don’t really want to hear it. It can’t be any worse than what my anxiety-riddled brain has already cooked up. I’ll just go sleep in my old room.” 

As I try to push past him to grab my glasses and my phone, Sam catches my wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip. I just stare at the floor, hating myself for the tears running down my face. 

“ Y/N, will you look at me? Please?” Sam murmurs, using the voice I know goes with his signature puppy dog eyes. “I’m not going to break up with you.”

That gets me to turn, and Sam is looking at me with the face he usually reserves for when Dean is doing something especially ridiculous. He takes my hand and flips it palm up, setting something small into it. 

“I was actually going to give you this. Ask you if you wanted it really.”

When Sam pulls his hand away my stomach drops. There’s a small, black velvet box sitting in my hand. I look up at Sam with wide eyes, and he gives me a shy, crooked grin.

“Open it.” He whispers, like a kid on Christmas.

“I-I don’t think I can.” I croak, a fresh wave of tears running down my cheeks. Sam’s grin spreads across his face, and he plucks the box out of my frozen hand, gracefully dropping to one knee in front of me. My hands fly up to cover my mouth as he pops open the box, revealing a simple gold ring with a pear shaped diamond.

“ Y/N, I was going to ask you if you’d marry me.”

All I can do is nod wildly, holding out my shaking left hand. Sam beams like a sunrise and slips the ring on my finger. It’s a perfect fit, of course, because Sam is the king of research. He stands up and bundles me into his arms.

“I feel like a dumbass!” I sob, shoving my face in his chest. Sam just laughs, gently tipping my head back and kissing me.

“Yeah, but you’re my dumbass. For the rest of our lives.”

~~~~

I wake up the next morning expecting it to be a dream. Sam has slept in for once, instead of going on his morning run, and is tangled around me like an enormous octopus, his legs between mine, face shoved in the back of my neck, arms locked around me like he was afraid I would bolt in the middle of the night. 

I spend a few minutes just staring at the ring. The only way I can tell it’s morning is the glow of the digital clock on the nightstand, which reads 8:47. Sam snuffles, then stretches around me.

“Mornin.” He mumbles around a yawn. Then he peers over my shoulder, his eyelashes tickling my skin. “Watcha lookin at?”

A slow smile spreads across my face.

“My perfect ring.”


End file.
